Hot on the Heels of Hydra
by notapepper
Summary: Fitz gets dragged into an undercover assignment, and being the drama queen that he is, he's hardly dancing for joy. (Short one-shot. A few F-words but nothing else too objectionable, probably. Whole team dynamic set somewhere in Season 2.)


"And _I'm_ the one doing this _why_?"

Coulson sighed patiently. "You're the only one with the tech experience to recognize the Hydra weapon when you see it."

"Except for me, and we all know _I_ couldn't do it," Jemma explained, helping him tape his surveillance device to his chest. "I'd be found out before I even started."

Bobbi held up two hangers from the clothing rack. "Besides, none of the other guys fit into the costume."

"Yes, the costume, _exactly_." Fitz glared at the assorted agents gathered around him before gesturing virulently to the gold sequined number in Bobbi's hand. "That," he seethed, "is _precisely_ my issue." It was going to take him _months_ to grow back his leg hair.

"Aww, what's the matter, buddy?" Skye crooned as she bent over him with a blush brush. "Afraid you won't be the prettiest girl at the dance?"

"Actually," Jemma started, missing the vehement warning in his widening eyes, "Fitz let me put mascara on him once at the Academy. You wouldn't _believe_ how-"

"Jemma! No!"

"Oh, Fitz, I'm saying you looked _nice_!"

Fitz groaned, beginning to drop his face into his hands before Skye grabbed his freshly-shaved chin and pulled it back with a jerk, waving the eyelash curler at him. "Keep moving, and I can't promise what'll end up where."

"I'd do as she says, mate." Hunter sat across the room, idly sipping a pre-mission beer. "You won't have a snowball's chance in Hell of winning that drag show if you go in looking like a bloody Picasso."

Mack gave Hunter a disapproving stare from where he stood next to him, crossing his massive arms before shooting Fitz a sympathetic grimace. "You'll be okay, Turbo. We'll be running backup the whole time. And hey - it's just for one night, right?"

"One night is fucking plenty," Fitz scowled under his breath. He was saved from further comments from his teammates when May appeared in the doorway. "Wheels up in ten." She eyed Fitz with the ghost of a smile. "Good work, Skye." Pausing mid-turn, she appraised Fitz one more time and mused, "You look like Paul Newman." With a final nod, she walked out to finish her pre-flight checks.

"More like _Ru_ Paul Newman! Amirite?" Skye held up a palm for a high five. Outside of Hunter's snort, no one responded, perhaps moved by the increasingly miserable expression fighting with the makeup on Fitz's face. Skye muttered a "you guys are no fun" as she tugged Fitz's wig on and pinned it in place.

"Found'em!" Bobbi held up a shoebox that had no right to be that long and pulled out a pair of white patent leather boots. _Mother of all- those are a prank, right?_ That had to be a joke. No one could walk in those things. And as often as Fitz wished he were taller, platform heels were _not_ what he'd had in mind.

 _Fuck._ Maybe if he asked nicely, Lance would shoot him in the foot.

"Okay, Fitzy!" Skye crowed, tugging him up by the elbow. "One last sweep of bronzer to your chest - by the way, milk called, it wants its complexion back - and now…"

Jemma and Bobbi helped him step into the tight gold minidress and zipped the boots up his calves before Skye squealed, "Time for dress rehearsal!"

"All right people." Coulson clapped his hands sternly. "Mack, music. Bobbi, you do the steps so Fitz can see you. Hunter, Skye, go make sure our weapons and comms are secured and ready to go. And Fitz," the Director's lips went up slightly in fatherly encouragement. "Remember, it's arms up on _raining_ , okay? You keep waiting until _Hallelujah_ and it throws the rhythm off the whole thing."

"I know, I know. I'll get it," he grumbled.

"Of _course_ you will." Jemma beamed at him from behind the tripod; she was filming the routine so they could watch it back later and point out areas to improve on. _It had fucking better be the only reason._ She reached out as he walked past her and squeezed his arm reassuringly. "You're almost there!"

Fitz smiled back tightly, stomping on unsteady legs to the taped-off X in the middle of the room. He sighed and pushed his thumbs into his eyes as the first disco-rich strains of The Weather Girls floated through the air.

 _Watch out, Hydra. Here we come._

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I was chatting with memorizingthedigitsofpi (check out her fics on AO3 or her tumblr page, she's great) and an offhand joke turned into A Thing. Hope you liked it!


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